


The Pirate of 221B

by CumberChameleon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Language, M/M, Sexual References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 22:16:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberChameleon/pseuds/CumberChameleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock dresses up for John and there are interesting consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pirate of 221B

**Author's Note:**

> This is the weird stuff my brain comes up with. Again I think some aspects are slightly OOC. It's not meant to be taken too seriously - hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Dedicated to my wonderful friend Karen (Crumble) :)

“Sherlock? We’ve been invited to Molly’s birthday party.”

The consulting detective didn’t even bother opening his eyes; he continued to lie flat on the sofa with his fingers pressed together under his chin. “Adults still have _birthday_ parties?”

“Yes,” John replied, taking a seat while he scanned the card curiously. It was decorated with swirls and flowers and pink, typical of the sender’s taste and personality. He could have sworn that the paper even smelt of perfume. “It’s a special birthday. She’ll be thirty.”

“And?” Sherlock prompted, heaving a sigh. “I don’t see why ordinary people feel the need to celebrate their birthdays. They’re simply getting older; withering away and getting closer to the grave. That's nothing to be _pleased_ about.”

The doctor stared at him with an expression of disbelief. He didn’t really know _why_ he was so surprised; he should have anticipated such a bitter response from his friend, but it still took him a moment to reply. “What a charming perspective.”

Sherlock opened his eyes momentarily to glance at John across the room. “I’m merely being realistic.”

“Molly’s a friend, though,” John persisted. “She’d be disappointed if you didn’t turn up.”

“Do you _really_ think that would be the case?”

John thought for a moment. He was suddenly greeted with mental images of Sherlock criticising all the guests with his deductions, as well as guessing all the gifts Molly had received before they were even opened. These images then merged into another more disturbing one of Sherlock suddenly declaring his boredom before grabbing a gun and firing at the nearest wall. “Maybe it would be more of a blessing if you didn’t go,” he eventually replied, earning a brief laugh from his companion.

“Exactly. It’s not my area.”

“It’s fancy dress, though,” John said dismissively, getting up to throw away the piece of paper. “That would have been a laugh. Never mind.”

Sherlock’s eyes suddenly shot open, wide and bright blue, and he sprung upright on the sofa. His dressing gown lay messily around him but he didn’t care; he just stared at John, watching him crumple the invite into the bin. “Fancy dress, you say?”

John turned and frowned, curious at his sudden interest. “Yes…? Is that important?”

Sherlock appeared to be chewing on his bottom lip while his eyebrows furrowed in thought. “There’s a costume in my wardrobe that I’ve wanted to use for quite some time now.”

John couldn’t resist scoffing but then he recalled the time they’d encountered Irene Adler; Sherlock had somehow had a policeman’s jacket in his possession, so he shouldn’t really have been so surprised at this new information. “Really? And what’s that?”

“I could… show you.”

Before John could respond, Sherlock had flown out of the room in a blur of silk and pale skin. John watched him with his mouth wide open, puzzled once again at the strange creature he lived with. Logically, he’d have thought that Sherlock most definitely wouldn’t be the type to dress up. He expected him to claim that it would be absurd and that people used it as a way to escape their depressing, disappointing lives by pretending to be somebody else.

But… apparently he _enjoyed_ it.

That gave John a strange feeling that he couldn’t quite place. He quickly dismissed it as confusion.

He found himself anxious to see this costume that Sherlock seemed so eager to share, but it was a long time before he emerged. A _very_ long time. John considered calling for him to ask if there was something wrong, but just as he stepped out of his armchair to do so, Sherlock strode proudly in front of him, almost unrecognisable.

Many emotions and feelings pulsed through John’s body as he took in the sight. He suspected he might have been hallucinating for a brief moment but a conversation he’d had with Mycroft Holmes some time ago rang clear in his mind. Nope, not hallucinating then.

Sherlock was definitely standing in front of him, dressed as a pirate.

It wasn’t a half-hearted attempt either; Sherlock had clearly put a lot of effort into the costume. He was wearing a tattered brown hat which flattened his curly hair on his forehead, as well as an eye patch with the usual skull and cross bones. On his other eye, he’d smeared black make up around the edges, making the colour surrounding his pupil seem even more striking than before.

John found the rest of the outfit slightly less interesting. Apart from the knee-length leather boots, that is. His eyes lingered on those.

Sherlock’s fingers flexed over the sword that he held in his hand, impatiently waiting for a response. “Well?”

“W…” John swallowed and blinked three times. “Well w-what?”

“What do you _think_?” Sherlock asked, rolling his visible eye.

“I… you…” He cleared his throat twice; why was it so difficult to speak? “Is… is that sword real?”

“For God’s sake, John.”

“Okay, okay, it’s… interesting.” John shifted about in the seat which he’d slumped back down into, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable. “Definitely… _interesting_.”

Sherlock observed his discomfort immediately, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?”

“What m-makes you think that?” John asked quickly.

“You’re sweating. Your hands have started twitching and…” he paused, leaning forward, “your pupils are dilated. Plus the extremely suggestive fact that you’ve crossed your legs. Something to hide, John?”

John tried his hardest not to splutter, but being in the same room as the world’s most observant man wasn’t really something that was in his favour. He decided on acting defensive, trying to ignore the ever-growing sensations in his stomach (and... _other_ areas)  at the same time. “I was merely making myself comfortable,” he said in a rush. “I’ve seen your outfit, just... go and take it off now.”

“Would you like that?”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening that time. Surely Sherlock wasn’t…

No, he was asexual. That much was obvious. When they’d first met, Sherlock had even said himself that he wasn’t interested in… _that_.

So why was John so intrigued and… and…

He swallowed, trying to clear his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do, you’re a bloody genius.”

“No, I'm afraid I don't. Please elaborate.” The beginnings of a smirk were playing on his lips.

“Sherlock, just _stop_ …” John began, rising out of his seat with the intention of visiting the bathroom. He didn’t get very far, however, for Sherlock held out his arm, blocking John’s path. His fingers brushed against his shoulder deliberately, lingering there. They met eyes and didn’t speak a word.

John’s thoughts were whirring around hopelessly, each one stumbling over another; he’d never felt so confused. He might have felt a slight attraction to Sherlock before, a _tiny_ one, but he’d presumed that it was just admiration for his friend’s skills. Awe at his intellect. His mind had never pictured him in a way that it was doing at that moment; he didn’t know whether to be disturbed or grateful for the final realisation.

Whatever was happening, Sherlock seemed to be responding, and this puzzled John even more. There was an undeniable glint in his eye, something different…

“Tell me what you’re thinking, John.”

John stared up at him wordlessly, processing his command. He realised there wasn’t really any point trying to lie; Sherlock would see right through him. Maybe it would be best to be honest for once. “I’m incredibly… confused.”

Sherlock didn’t blink. “In what way?”

“I’m… I’m confused as to why I find that outfit such a fucking turn on.”

Everything happened in a fast blur after that. John knew Sherlock could be quick, but he barely had time to blink before Sherlock had joined him on the seat, practically straddling his lap. Before he could protest further, Sherlock pressed his lips against John’s with a startling confidence. John froze in shock as Sherlock kissed him, wondering what the _hell_ was going on, but it didn’t take long before he realised that he was enjoying himself. No, he was _more_ than enjoying himself, so he gripped the back of Sherlock’s head and pulled him closer, running his fingers through the messy dark hair; his hat fell to the floor, unnoticed. Sherlock kept his hands on John’s shoulders and placed his legs either side of John’s, effectively trapping him on the seat. John didn’t mind at all; all he could think of was that his flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, was deeply kissing him on his armchair while dressed as a pirate.

He suddenly had the urge to laugh. So he did.

Sherlock suddenly pulled away, lips blotchy and swollen, with his eyebrows furrowed once more. “Why are you laughing?”

John swallowed and glanced at Sherlock’s hair that was sticking up in all kinds of directions. The make up around his eye had smeared down his cheek and he snorted, shaking his head. “Would it be awful of me to say shiver me timbers?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said with a semi-serious expression.

“I just… I c-can’t believe that happened.”

Sherlock grinned. “Well it _is_ about time.”

John frowned. “About time?”

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been... attracted to me for a very long time.”

John grimaced, wondering how on earth Sherlock had a better idea of his own feelings than he did. Then again, he was _Sherlock_. “Right… and you’re positive about that?”

“Oh I could go on for hours listing all the things I’ve observed, but that would be monotonous. Needless to say, I soon realised, much to my surprise, that the attraction was mutual.”

Sherlock had kept a calm face while saying this but the words somehow hit John in the chest. They filled him with excitement and happiness and intrigue about what could happen next. Surprisingly, the last thing he felt anymore was disturbed. It felt right, like a weight he hadn’t realised had been there was lifted off his shoulders. It was a relief. He knew things would be complicated, but he’d certainly dealt with worse things during his life.

While he thought all of this, he suddenly realised the seriousness of his thoughts; they hadn’t even _discussed_ a serious relationship. Hell, they’d only just kissed. He highly doubted that Sherlock would be willing to sustain a partnership and, as this hit home, John felt like he was being deflated.

“Why do you look sad?” Sherlock observed instantly.

John sighed. “Because... I can’t feel my legs.”

Sherlock stood up and John followed, stretching all the way. “That’s better.”

“Now tell me why you're _really_ sad.”

John met his eyes. “Where do we go from here, Sherlock? This is seriously complicated.”

“I don’t see why it should be. We’re both attracted to each other… that seems simple enough. And where we go from here seems obvious also.”

John remained silent, still unsure.

“If you’re worried about what people will say then…”

“No, no it’s not that,” John interrupted. Then, something dawned on him. Sherlock had spoken as though they _would_ be a couple. As though he had intentions of people knowing this and that he could see them still being together in the future. The smile returned to his face full force.

“Ah, you thought I wouldn’t take this seriously?” Sherlock asked, correct as ever. “John, I know it’s just the beginning, but I have every intention of keeping you as my own for as long as possible.”

“That’s a tad possessive.”

“You like it really,” Sherlock murmured. Again, he was right.

“Okay,” John said. He realised that didn’t seem an adequate enough word to sum up what had just happened between them but he really couldn’t find anything else to say. Instead, he smiled up at Sherlock, who returned the gesture without hesitation. It was a rare sight.

“We’re going to Molly’s party then, I presume?” Sherlock asked, casually heading to the bin and retrieving the crumpled paper.

“What? You want to now?”

“Of course. And it’ll be amusing to see your face throughout the evening while I’m dressed in this costume.”

“Oh God,” John sighed.

“Oh yes. I’ll make it as torturous as possible for you.” He smiled sweetly. “In a good way, of course. It’ll be worth your while in the end.”

“W-When is this party?”

“Next Friday, John, you read the invitation.”

“Can’t come quick enough,” John said. “But what should I go as? I’ll have to find something.”

“How about a parrot?” Sherlock suggested.

John tilted his head in disapproval. “Sherlock. Don’t be ridiculous. And how the hell would I stay on your shoulder for the entire evening?”

“It could be arranged.”

Trying to ignore that comment, John grimaced. “No, I’ll have to think about it.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock responded, watching as he headed towards the door, “but we know one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve got Molly Hooper to thank for helping me discover your pirate fetish.”

John grinned. “Just try not to drop that into the conversation. You might traumatise her.”

Sherlock smiled as his partner left the room. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and nodded, pleased with himself. Following that, he picked his hat up off the floor and made his way to his bedroom.

He had a feeling the costume would be making a _lot_ more appearances in the future.


End file.
